Page 9 of Sinister Secrets

“Aren’t I always?”

I kiss him again before he can respond, because we both know the true answer.

CHAPTER 6

Sheriff Kingston watches Jake’s back with a narrow-eyed scowl as he heads back to the house to get ready for work. Turning to me, he shakes his head with a look of disgust.

“I suppose you’re gonna give him an alibi for last night?” he asks.

“I suppose that I am.”

“Seems mighty foolish of you.”

“What does?”

“Putting yourself on the line for someone like him.”

“You mean someone who’s trustworthy and kind? Intelligent? Hardworking? Yeah, I can see how you wouldn’t understand that.”

Kingston snorts. It makes me imagine what it would feel like to push him over into the dirt. It’s petty and childish and a rabbit hole I can’t allow myself to go down because I could easily lose myself for the rest of the day in those types of fantasies. How can I work with someone who makes me feel this way?

There are so many things that I want to say to this man that I’ve been keeping to myself for entirely too long. He needs a stark reality check, and I want to be the one to give it to him. I’ve imagined the way it would feel to not just destroy but to completely pulverize his ego more times than I can count.

But I can’t allow myself to do it, especially now. I clench my jaw to keep myself in check, already feeling a headache coming on because of it.

“Can we just get this over with?” I ask.

“Why? You have more important things to do?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

I wish I could tell him like anything. Filing my nails. Watching paint dry. Trying to count each individual blade of grass in the yard.

But this isn’t about him. It’s about the dead man floating in Chomp’s pond. About the person who put him there mistakenly thinking that they’re going to get away with their crime.

There’s no room for personal feelings in an investigation. I need to remember that. Hopefully we both will. Swallowing down all my smart aleck replies, I change the subject instead.

“We should probably process the scene before the transport van gets here.” When he doesn’t respond, I glance over at him and find him watching me.

“You did good earlier,” he says. “With the boy, I mean.”

I nod, not wanting to thank him for the compliment until I know his angle.

“I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.”

I can’t help bristling. I’m good at my job. I always have been. If he didn’t trust that, then why did he ask me to help? My voice is sharp as I ask, “What in me?”

His face screws up, though not in its usual scowl, as he tries to think of the word. It makes me wonder if, like me, he’s trying to make an effort.

“Maternal-ness,” he finally says.

Or maybe not. I face forward again, bracing myself for what’s sure to come next. No doubt a dig about swamp scum, or little girls raised without mothers, or—

“You’d make a great mom.”

I swallow hard as I shift my gaze to him again. There’s a tenderness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before.